An Exception To The Rule
by Charlie671b
Summary: John transfers to Sargent Ridge Academy and comes across the curious Sherlock Holmes. John befriends the young sociopath and soon discovers that Sherlock may not be as emotionless as he claims to be... Johnlock, Johnary, Morlock, high school AU Warnings: Language, mild sexual reference, violence
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

John stared miserably through the clouded glass, watching as other students milled around a set of tall, school gates. The firm, grey building looked even less inviting in real life than it had on the website. A boarding school "to open doors to the future, John" his father had stated and at the time, John had been elated, this would definitely help him into a free choice of universities. But now, staring at the huddling uniforms with heavily laden bags, his stomach dropped. He didn't know anyone, he didn't make friends all that easily and really his old school would have gotten him his grades. He'd had to leave everything behind, his friends- he already missed Greg awfully and his football team. They sucked before but now, without their star shooter, they didn't stand a chance.  
Rain lashed the old grey stone perilously; girls' squealed and shrieked at the heavens, shuddering flirtatiously into the older boys' sides.  
'Typical,' he thought shaking his head to himself.  
Jolting back from the window in surprise, John yelped as a hooded figure appeared directly in front of him, face hidden in shadow. He shrank back away from the door and the stranger seemed to take that as an invitation because quickly and with the lightness of a dancer, the tall figure swung up and threw them self into the backseat, slamming the door and sinking low until their head would no longer be visible through the window.  
"Shut up and face front," a deep, baritone voice rumbled from beneath the hood and John bristled irritably.  
"I didn't say-" he blinked in surprise as he was cut off.  
"No, you didn't," the hood turned toward him, the voice heavy with curiosity, just for a second before the soaked stranger snapped, "you were going to though; eventually anyway. Now do as you're told,"  
Before John could form a reply another figure streamed past the car, and then another straight behind yelling,  
"Get him! Where did he go? That little freaks gonna get it this time-" and a third figure swearing like he had every cuss existing memorised. "He must have headed toward the gates, come on," and they were gone.  
John watched as the stranger's shoulders relaxed and he shuffled to sit straight in his seat.  
"Okay, now get out," John tried to speak clear and strong but his words faltered as the stranger dropped his hood. Black curls sprang around his face, the high cheek bones sharp and striking but no where near as spectacular as those crystalline blue green eyes; he was utterly gorgeous. The newly revealed boy was clearly a student if his crumpled blazer was anything to go by, but he was tall and insanely slim, he must be in the upper sixth at least; but then why was he in uniform?  
"Why haven't you gone inside?" The taller of the two boys spoke up and John blinked at him.  
"What?" He stuttered slightly but narrowed his eyes when the newcomer made a tutting sound and rolled his own.  
"This obviously isn't your car as you aren't older than seventeen; you're also sat in the back seat. There are several suitcases in the boot so you're planning to stay here unless, of course, you were about to leave however the engine is warm so you've just arrived; staying then. Your clothes aren't pressed, early morning? Long drive because if we go on the basis that road speeds are, at an average of, forty miles per hour, plus the early morning yet only just arriving now at quarter to eight it had to have been a good distance but not too long or you would've arrived yesterday before term starts not on the day of. Coming back to distance lets say five am start so that's- roughly one hundred and thirteen point three miles, now I've got radius and an area of seven hundred and twelve point nought nine square miles. From the car type I'd say you're used to rough terrain- country roads; that rules out large towns and cities. Although I have area I'm presuming outskirts, your jumper is-" the tall boy leant close sniffing John's woollen jumper, quickly swiping the fabric with his nose before promptly pulling back. His proximity sent John's pulse skittering terribly.  
"Pomeranian wool predominantly found in the northern regions, hand spun, no coloration so locally made. I'm thinking small, close-knit, farming village -if you'll excuse the pun- so Greenston? Now arrival time is obtuse because your driver has strange working hours that can't be manipulated. I'd say -yes, they work in care; the NHS support sticker in the window says…nurse? This is confirmed by the ID card in the front, left, side-door compartment. Now what would a non-family member be doing running a boy across country after a night shift? Why night shift? The coffee cups in the front and scrubs in the glove box- she would have removed and washed them if she'd had the chance. So family member then, 'she' I presume mother. Her names Watson so you are also a Watson, by age I'd say a future student here. The only student due here today by the name of Watson is a Mr. John Watson for year twelve, lower sixth. John Watson it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm Sherlock Holmes," the strange boy extended a long fingered hand, a satisfied yet curious smirk on his face. "And why is it that you have not yet left the car?"  
If John had felt speechless before, now he was damn straight mute. Shakily he raised a hand to meet the other boys' whose fingers were cold and damp from the rain.  
"How-?" John shook his head slightly, a small smile tilting his lips. "You're right...almost entirely right, wow that's-" John dropped the cool hand, raising his eyebrows and blowing out a soft huff, "that was bloody brilliant." His eyes met Sherlock's- what a strange name- and he looked lost, put out even. Had John said something wrong?  
"Damn it...what did I miss? There's always something-"  
"Nothing big, just it was my sister who drove me this morning, we left as soon as mum got back, that's why her stuff is still in here-"  
"Oh god! Stupid mistake, should've known- the eyeliner, damn it." Sherlock seemed to disappear into himself for a moment.  
"Er...Sherlock? That was fantastic, I mean bloody amazing," for some reason John felt the need to comfort the taller boy.  
"That's not what people usually say," Sherlock said quietly keeping John's soft gaze fixed with his own. John could only just catch enough breath to reply,  
"And what do people usually say?"  
Sherlock's lips twitched,  
"Piss off." John barked a laugh before stifling it with his fist, then Sherlock was snickering and both boys laughed freely in each others company.  
"John, do you plan on answering my question?"  
"What- oh! Um...Harry- my sister- has uh-"  
"Drinking issues."  
"Yes, how-?"  
"Coffee strength, John, do continue."  
"She needed to uh...revive herself, I guess. I wanted to wait for her but, well, I don't want to be late I suppose."  
Sherlock nodded speculatively and after a moment turned to John again,  
"Would you like me to take you inside?"  
Choking on his own breath, John's face flooded red and he could no longer hold Sherlock's gaze.  
"No I uh...it's...no thank you."  
"John, are you alright?" Sherlock's piercing stare zeroed in on him. John could literally see Sherlock running over their conversation; the only tell that he'd understood John's line of thought being the light pink blush over his cheeks.  
Sherlock cleared his throat and hopped out of the car,  
"As far as I know we're room mates so I may as well."  
As the taller boy strode round to the boot John gulped a deep breath, he had to keep it together, he didn't want to freak out his new room mate; that wouldn't do at all.


	2. Chapter 2

John didn't miss how the crowd of teenagers parted for Sherlock, as if he carried an infectious disease. Neither did he miss how his new acquaintance tensed at each sneer, like he was preparing to be hit every time it happened.  
John had his duffle slung over his shoulder and he dragged a small, wheeled suitcase behind himself, following closely behind Sherlock.  
"Most rooms are double bunks but ours is just us," his tone seemed bitter sweet, John guessed he liked his solitude but not the reasons behind it; he was sure Sherlock would never admit that though.  
Sherlock's curls had flattened somewhat in the dank weather; his pale skin almost looked clammy. If that's what the surroundings did to such a beauty as Sherlock, John didn't want to think what he looked like right now. Holmes ducked through a back door that looked suspiciously unused; it led to a staircase covered thickly in dust.  
"Um Sherlock, this isn't the usual way into school,"  
"Well done, John." His tone dry, "No, it isn't. I prefer this way,"  
"Less people," John muttered, starting guiltily when Sherlock replied wryly,  
"Quite,"  
They climbed four staircases - each turning ninety degrees left to its predecessor - only stopping halfway up for Sherlock to reluctantly take John's suitcase from him when it looked like he was struggling. At the time John argued but was honestly glad; his knee was killing. By the time they reached the top John was panting. He threw a glance at Sherlock to see that the boy had barely even broken a sweat; damn. Not only good looking and insanely clever but stupidly fit too.  
'Stop it,' he scolded himself.  
The hall looked old, like the staircase and just as unused. Faded paintings swung precariously off of long-come-loose nails. Lengths of wall were coloured in a sickly yellow; improved by the dulling of thick dust.  
"How homely," John said brightly, trying to hide his displeasure. Sherlock cast an amused look over a straight shoulder,  
"Don't worry, John. This is just an old hall, used for storage now. A secret entrance if you like. We'll be coming to the main corridor soon," Voices, giggling and the general raucous of arriving boarders began to grow louder the further they walked, confirming Sherlock's statement.  
"Thanks for all your help Sherlock; I can tell you...don't like people in general so...thank you, I guess." John only got a soft hum in response.  
A normal and plain looking door appeared ahead of them, through which Sherlock quickly waved him. To John's surprise, nobody noticed them; it seemed to him that most people tried to ignore Sherlock and any of his affairs: That or terrorise him.  
"This way, John," Sherlock looked almost comical striding with his tall, proud gait while trundling John's suitcase behind him.

Part 3

"Oi!"  
John started to turn, to search out the voice from behind him, but Sherlock had firmly grabbed onto his elbow, steering the smaller boy through the crowded halls.  
"Keep walking, John." There was a sharp edge in his voice.  
"Fag," Sherlock flinched, "I'm talking to you!"  
"Don't stop," Sherlock whispered and John shoved through the suffocating corridor, face set in a grim line. This wasn't fair, it wasn't right to treat someone like this.  
"I said-" a hand clamped down on Sherlock's shoulder, roughly spinning him into the wall and pinning him there, "I'm talking to you, freak." This bully John recognised, he was the second figure to run past his car. "Hello Holmes, how are you doing this fine morning, hey? I'll tell you how I'm doing yeah?" By now the greasy haired boy had his face millimetres from Sherlock's, his mousy brown mop hanging by his chin.  
"Why don't you Anderson, I'm intrigued." Sherlock's velvety smooth voice oozed confidence and boredom but John could tell from the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, that Sherlock was- at the very least- unsure.  
"What did you tell Sally?" Anderson spat, pulling the taller boy away from the wall and slamming him back again. John watched horrified as Sherlock spluttered; winded. He looked so horridly vulnerable, however something in John told him that if Sherlock wanted to, he could take Anderson tooth for tooth.  
"Piss off Anderson! He didn't do anything to you!" John spun around to see a small brown haired girl; she had nothing to her but nonetheless stood straight, hands on hips, glaring icy daggers at the bully- who actually laughed at her.  
"In fact I did. Very amusing really-" both defendant and prosecutor ignored Sherlock's arrogant interruption.  
"What do you want, Hooper, to save your crush from big bad me?" Anderson pouted mockingly as the girls cheeks reddened, "Too bad he doesn't swing your way. But then nobody does, do they?" Anderson had a very ugly sneer.  
"Just...let him go, okay?" She seemed to disappear back inside herself, previous confidence withered and shrunk.  
"No, now fuck off and cry over another rejection would you?"  
The lanky douche had not just said that. John could just about handle Sherlock being picked on, because if he wanted he could stand up for himself, but picking on a someone so small  
and shy trying to be brave? No. John's eyes rose to Sherlock's and he let his bag slip quietly to the floor. They held each others stare a second longer than strictly necessary and then, like over stretched elastic bands, they snapped.  
John's hands found Anderson's shoulders and he pulled sharply back, hooking his own arms through the bullies, pinning the bony guy against his chest and releasing Sherlock who- of all things- straightened his blazer and did up the waist buttons.  
"Now, now, Anderson, that was rude," his expression turned from civil to murderous in a second flat. And then Anderson was doubled over. John hadn't even seen Sherlock raise his fist before it had slammed into the bully's' stomach. John let go and watched blankly as the boy crumpled to the floor. "You do not talk to Molly Hooper like that, understood?" Sherlock snarled letting a cruel smile turn his lips when Anderson groaned and half-heartedly nodded his head. "Good," Sherlock swooped for the suitcase calling over his shoulder, "Come along, John!" leaving the smaller boy to scramble after him with his duffel.

Behind them the hall burst into chatter like radio static.  
"Sherlock," John watched the back of his new acquaintance's head feeling irritated with how little response he was given,  
"Sherlock-"  
"In here, John." His long pale fingers pushed against John's lower back, directing him into a large room at the end of the corridor. He seemed oblivious to the shiver that ran up the smaller boy's spine. "Would you rather top or bottom?"  
John let his eyelids flutter closed and he took a deep breath. That was not what Sherlock was asking.  
Forcing a smile he spun around to face his room mate,  
"Bottom I guess. Um," as John's gaze washed over the room cluttered high with...well, everything, he heard a faint "Good to know," and as the blush spread over his cheeks he was glad he happened to be facing away from Sherlock.  
A desk piled with stacks of paper, a microscope peeking out from behind a tower of take-out boxes.  
"Are those-?"  
"Organs? Yes. I like to experiment. That won't be a problem?" John felt a little lost. Was this allowed?  
"No," he breathed. A set of bunk beds sat in the corner looking incredibly neat and un-slept in compared to the rest of the room. Several shirts hung from the ladder rungs, a school bag was slung carelessly by the door, all manner of coloured school books spilling out onto the boarded floor. The bookshelf was floor to ceiling and at least twenty books across. It's collection was sandwiched tightly together with more lying horizontally wedged above and still there were columns of bound pages reaching waist height around the crammed shelf's base. But what astounded John the most was how the subjects ranged. Titles alternated between battered volumes of 'How to develop a super-power memory', to brand new looking copies of 'Egyptian hieroglyphic translations to Arabic in 30 minutes'. Why Sherlock would need that, he didn't know but at least this boy sounded interesting.  
"Where should I put my stuff?" After a moment of silence John turned to see Sherlock leaning against the closed door, hands in a prayer position under his chin, blue green eyes tightly closed. "Sherlock?" No response; great. "Okay, I'll just...grab my case," John eyed where the lean boy had dropped it behind his legs, trying to work out how best to nab it. "Right," he muttered as he reached round Sherlock's unusually long limbs. John tried not to think about how close his face was to this amazing boy's crotch or about how the heat Sherlock's body radiated gave him goose bumps-  
"John."  
"Agh-" the smaller boy raced to stand straight, cheeks heating immediately as their chests brushed. John could feel the warmth of Sherlock's breath on his face, looking up he found those piercing eyes scrutinising his every movement. 'Oh god,' he thought. John hurriedly tried to scramble back but lost his footing on a- a skull! Reaching out for the nearest way to steady himself, John grabbed two fistfuls of Sherlock's shirt but the lithe boy wasn't expecting the sudden change in balance and fell forward with John down onto the hard floor boards.

Long seconds passed slowly. John lay still and tense under Sherlock, breath stuttering with the shock of his fall and the added weight of the surprisingly heavy Holmes. His fists were still clenched tightly in the white cotton over Sherlock's chest. His room mate's arms were bent either side of John's head, pink lips centimetres from his own, hot breath tickling John's cheek, their hip bones pressing together- oh no. 'Please don't let me be hard-'  
"Christ John." That deep baritone so wasn't helping with his... problem.  
"Sorry Sherlock...I...god I'm sorry."  
"Shut up, Watson." He silenced himself, "Are you alright?"  
Taking a quick bodily inventory- ignoring his fastly arising problem! - he whispered a reply.  
"I'm fine. Are you-?"  
"I'm fine too. Come on then, John," Sherlock's body weight disappeared as the boy sprang to his feet and skipped over to the takeaway boxes, muttering to himself.  
Subtly as possible John craned his neck to check himself- he wasn't tented; at all. What the...? Did that mean... John's eyes widened his breathing momentarily ceasing. 'Bloody hell,'  
"Do you plan on lying there all day?"  
John stumbled to his feet, watching the genius bend over his microscope and couldn't help the grin that split over his face.  
Sherlock bloody Holmes was hard for him.  
"So, Sherlock, where do you want me to dump my stuff?" John was quite certain he was going to like it here after all


	3. Chapter 3

John took to boarding like a duck to water. He loved his lessons, particularly his sciences with Doctor Laird; the Scottish professor was a genius. Well, John thought so, Sherlock wasn't convinced but then it took someone truly magnificent to impress Sherlock and sadly very few people met that mark.

In fact in the past few weeks Sherlock had barely spoken to John; spoken at him, sure. But rarely had there been a two sided, experiment-unrelated conversation. The younger boy - as Sherlock had turned out to be a year eleven at their school - showed much more interest in whatever lay under those microscope slides than anything in real life. So naturally, John's interests, too, turned to other things. Another student, a girl for that matter, her name was Sarah and she was lovely; Mild but sweet, quiet but conducive to light and relaxed conversation, normal. John sat with her in most of his science lessons as well as psyche. Sarah helped the new student catch up on previously studied topics, offered tutoring during study periods and advice on how to manage work loads. And finally, she had asked John out.

They had been walking back to John's room after chemistry revision, so close their arms brushed sometimes. Conversation was hushed and minimal but what few words that were exchanged were soft, sweet and romantic even.

"John, are you going to that school party thing tomorrow?" Sarah had held her books to her chest, eyes clear and bright as they watched his face, unafraid but tentative.

"Uh...I wasn't going to...no," John hated- well, parties. People he could deal with and dancing wasn't so bad but watching people gossip or bully or drink them selves into a dangerously inebriated oblivion? He just didn't understand it. Sarah looked slightly disappointed but her determination shone clearly in her wide, brown eyes.

"Won't your girlfriend be disappointed?"

John's lips curled at Sarah's not so subtle phrasing.

"If I had one, probably," He cast a sideways glance at the rather mousy featured girl with her broad, well-set stance. So contradictory in herself, she was fascinating to watch.

John internally rolled his eyes at himself, he was sounding like Sherlock. "I'm free that night though so fancy dragging me along?" Sarah positively grinned.

"Yes, great. Um..." For a moment her eyes dropped, she fidgeted awkwardly and John realised it was his turn to make a move. He hated when it came to this.

"Uh, I should get back to my commons..." He took one step away.

"Oh, yeah okay, um..." After another long stretch of silence she giggled nervously and then John did too. "John, can I-"

"God yes," and then his arms were around her.

His hard body pressed into her soft one; broad, strong limbs encasing a more delicate physique.

And John was kissing her. Just gentle soft presses of the lips, chaste. Sarah's hands released her textbooks and they thundered against the hollow wooden flooring, already forgotten as her hands reached up into John's blonde mop, gripping tightly to the hair at the nape of his neck. Her insistence was mirrored as John stumbled forward until he had the girl against a pale wall, hands trailing down her sides, settling firmly one on each hip, holding her small proud frame. His tongue pressed softly against the line of her lips, asking for entrance and she didn't hesitate to comply. He hummed warmly as her smell filled his nose: cherry blossom, sweet and soft; her taste of cinnamon, cosy and comforting; her warm skin under his still hands-

Her light moan; filling his ears, sending a trill of excitement tightening his abdomen. In fact she was loud. It was a wander they didn't have a crowd by now, John was pretty sure anyone within a one hundred metre radius would hear them. But then maybe they did have a crowd and were just oblivious, because he certainly didn't notice his roommate for quite some time. He didn't see how Sherlock momentarily froze, face crestfallen until he managed to wash his expression clean and instead clenched his fists. Sherlock had stormed past the two, snarling some comment about how they "should have eaten more at dinner". The moment Sherlock's voice had been heard, John had pushed away from Sarah, blushing furiously. Dammit. Both teens were gasping for breath and eventually they shared a bashful grin.

"Goodnight, John."

"Yeah, night Sarah,"

John shuffled into his room feeling utterly debauched and quite pleased with himself really. But then his eye line got caught in Sherlock's fiery glare and it gave John a strange sense of shame. Why should he feel guilty for kissing someone?

"What, Sherlock?" He snapped. He'd had enough of Sherlock's controlling nature.

"Did you have fun, John?" The younger boy's voice held a mock curiosity that made John squirm.

"Actually Sherlock, yes, I did. And I've got a date with her- Sarah - tomorrow night." John felt the need to make this known to Sherlock and he wasn't sure why.

"Oh John really, she's so dull-" The older boy cut Sherlock off mid eye roll.

"No, Sherlock. Actually, she's one of the most interesting people I've met."

"Then your standards are very low." Sherlock's voice was quiet, condescending even, as he made his disappointment in John clear.

John felt furious, his fists clenched in restraint, eyes narrowed but his voice was forcefully calm.

"My standards are human!" He barked. "Now I'm going to bed. If you pick up that violin I swear I'll break it in two." And then he turned on his heel and slammed the door of their en suite bathroom behind him.

Sherlock perched on his desk, one leg crossed over the other; hands steeped in his usual thinking pose. He tried desperately to think of his latest experiments. When that didn't work he tried reciting all manner of facts to himself; drawing them from his memory palace but to no avail. Sherlock instead found himself acutely aware of the sound of running water hitting white tiles.

How could John be so stupid? Sarah; a girl, and of all the people his room mate could have chosen it had to have been such a boring and obvious person; tedious. Sherlock growled angrily, his fingers whitening as he pressed them harder together.

"Of all the most predictable people-" He muttered to himself, what did Sarah see in John? The older lad was a simple boy, small town and youngest of the family. Yet so damned complicated, Sherlock himself was still hooked on the new student; intrigued by such a calm exterior but that fierce, fiery core. The first day with Molly, the sharp execution of his movements, so quick to defend, loyal and trusting of Sherlock, who was shunned by most. John Watson was brilliant, no two ways about it. He just had to find a way to tell him-

"Night, Sherlock."

The genius's head snapped up to see John, washed and changed and curled on his bunk.

His eyes narrowed in confusion, he hadn't noticed the passed time. Maybe Sherlock had been in his mind palace after all; he just hadn't realised quite how many parts included his room mate.

Sherlock relaxed his hands allowing them to fall into his lap.

"Goodnight John,"


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock, for the love of all things holy, where is my bloody shirt?" John circled their room once more, throwing objects out of his way, ducking to grapple under the beds and desks and chairs; like he was participating in some obscene dance. He looked up to see a familiar smirk grace Sherlock's face, proud shoulders oozing nonchalance as he held his hands in a neat prayer under his chin.

"I'm afraid I just don't know,"

"Damn it Sherlock, come on!"

"I fail to see how this is my fault-"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! For some reason you don't want me to go on my date-"

"Hardly a date, John," Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing as if he were far superior to this errant child.

"Screw you! What's your bloody problem? Are you...God, are you jealous?" The moment the words had left his mouth John regretted them. He snapped his jaw shut eyes wide as he observed Sherlock's reaction.

But there was barely a flutter of an eyelid.

The taller boy had maybe tensed and John could have sworn he saw surprise chased by hurt blink across the younger boys face but it was too quick to call a valid response. Sherlock slowly blinked; his arms relaxing down to grip the desk either side of his hips; face - characteristically yet dishearteningly - blank.

"Your shirt is hanging behind the left curtain," his voice was monotone, each syllable slow and clear. John released his breath, softly muttered a thank you and tried to finish dressing himself to meet Sarah. His fingers fumbled inelegantly over his shirt buttons, suddenly heavy under Sherlock's scrutinising gaze. After several failed attempts to align his shirt correctly, each separate button downright refusing to meet its assigned partner, John huffed agitatedly, throwing a concerned glance toward the clock. A certain genius appeared right beside him and bent his curly head down to John's ear, soft tendrils tickling the elder's cheek while long fingered hands fluttered over the shirts front, John found himself fighting a blush whenever Sherlock's fingertips brushed his chest. The nimble soft tips felt cool against John's exposed skin, his muscles twitched under such light touches; he would deny ever having bitten his lip or releasing the surprised, sharp gasp when Sherlock's palms slid over his rugby-toned pecs. 'Doesn't matter,' John assured himself, 'Sherlock will have noticed and will by no means question it. After all he's a sociopath, not one to care about real emotions.' Watson tried to convince himself that he wasn't even the slightest part bitter about that.

"You look dashing, John Watson," was whispered into charged air, a lingering moment of high strung silence, punctuated by a lack of personal space. Hot breath brushing over John's shoulder and down his neck, eyelashes tickling his cheek-

With a quick downward glance Sherlock arched a perfectly bowed eyebrow, "though, a pair of trousers is marginally more socially acceptable, I've heard." John dropped Sherlock's gaze to see he hadn't yet put on his dress pants. By time he looked up Sherlock was gone, already bent over an experiment.

'Bastard ruined the moment,' John's breath caught in his throat. 'He'll be the bloody death of me.' John felt strangely fond of that notion and he smiled while reaching promptly for a pair of black slacks.

John hadn't been kidding when he said he didn't enjoy parties and he reinstated his opinion with feeling as he stood in a darkened corner beside a blaring speaker. He had no idea where Sarah was and John was beginning to feel uncomfortable under curious glances and the whispered commentary; he was still relatively new and Sarah... Well she was something of a hot commodity here, being one of the founding families' youngest daughters and all.

"New kid!"

Fuck.

Anderson's voice buzzed over the music. The lanky bully slid in front of him just as John caught a glance of Sarah across the room. "I told you that you were going to pay," he hissed, directly into John's ear. "Now you have, fag," he spat and as quickly as he'd come, Anderson left.

John couldn't tell if he'd imagined the tiny, scarlet stain on the bully's white shirt.

What did he mean? John shrugged, deciding that he'd discover whatever disgusting, school-boy prank was waiting for him later, for now the beautiful girl across the room was waiting for him.

John slalomed through the crowd toward her, her cream evening gown sparkling in the low light. "Sarah!" He called.

Wait had Anderson called him...a fag?

Sarah looked up and grinned in his direction. Why would he call him that if he's going out with Sarah whom is notably female?

"John!" She called back starting towards him. The only other time he'd heard Anderson call any one that, he'd been referring to-

"Sherlock," John whispered. Shock forced him to stand still, of course Anderson would go after Sherlock but surely the younger boy was alright-

"John?" Sarah was still heading toward him, looking concerned now. But the red stain screamed at John and the older boy's stomach dropped. Sherlock was alone tonight...the only student who would not attend this party-

A hand curled around his bicep and John jerked away; startled. He couldn't register the look of hurt and confusion on Sarah's face. "John, what's wrong?"

"I...have to go. Sorry, Sarah, it's an emergency," John hastily patted the girls arm and pushed away immediately breaking into a jog. As he hit the doors into the main hall he pushed to a sprint, the whole time images of Sherlock, broken and bloody, colouring his mind.

John's knee ceased and cramped but the boy ran on, refusing to stop when his friend needed him.

"Too many bloody halls," he muttered as he turned another wrong corner; Left, left, right- dead end, "Crap," John turned and almost ran past the staircase to his dorm floor. He counted each step in his mind as he flew up them, two ago. One, two, four, six-

"Ouch!" A girl yelled as John knocked her straight off her feet, flat onto her back. With an impatient sigh John stopped, turned and helped pull the girl to her feet, her cold blue eyes glared at him for a second and then they widened, they looked almost fearful.

"I'm so sorry, I'm just- it's an emergency-" John stated.

"Yes," the girl whispered, eyes locked on John under her short blonde hair, she wore a startling red dress that made her fair features brighter; sharper. "Go, John, I'm sorry I -" her ice blue eyes seemed to melt as they filled with tears. "Please, go." And then she turned and ran the way John had come. What the hell-?

Sherlock; John shook the strange girl from his mind and pushed on up the stairs, right onto his corridor, straight down it, past the "secret" entrance and on and on- the trip had never felt this long before. John skidded left and took the last steps toward his room- one, two, three, "Sherlock!"

A bloody handprint smeared the wall beside his door and John gulped. His hand trembled as he reached for the door knob, twisted and pushed.

"Oh my God," he breathed and stepped inside.


End file.
